What a tangle! Edward’s mother conspires against us and who knows how much of her intrigue has seeped into Edward’s mind. What seeds of doubt she has sown.
“Edward came back last night from a meeting with his solicitor. We talked and enjoyed each other’s company. But he left without a word this morning,” Isla said.
“He returned here ready to confront you,” Alistair said, “because he learned something of the gossip half of London is whispering and left because he feared what he felt.”
Her eyes lifted sharply. “Felt?”
Alistair was watching her sharply through the pain of an alcohol haze.
“Isla,” he said, rubbing his brow, “the man carried you through a ballroom. Stood against the ton for you. Raced after you in Hyde Park. Shouted himself hoarse defending you to half of London. Men do not do these things out of duty alone.”
Her heart performed a painful, treacherous flutter. She quelled it at once.
Weesht! I’ll no be made a fool of!
“He mistrusts me,” she said firmly.
“He mistrusts everyone,” Alistair corrected. “It is a habit of men who have commanded ships. But he mistrusts you less than most.”
Less than most. What an exquisite misery that is.
“I tell myself it does not matter,” she said, “our lives are already entangled. Whether he doubts me or not cannot change that.”
“But it can change everything,” Alistair muttered, rising with a groan. “If he doubts you in marriage, it will be a misery for you both.”
“Then I shall make certain he does not,” she said, deciding it as she spoke it.
Alistair blinked. “You mean to confront him?”
“No. Not confront.” Her voice steadied. “Clarify.”
“And if he does not believe you?”
“I’ll survive,” she said, forcing a smile she did not feel. “I can survive doubt.”
Alistair snorted despite himself. “If you speak to him, do so with care. Wexford is like a gunpowder magazine. One wrong spark…”
“… can blow the roof off,” she finished, “aye. I noticed.”
He eyed the bloodless pallor in her cheeks. “Are you certain you wish to speak to him today?”
“Yes.”
Because the alternative, letting suspicion fester between them was worse. Alistair watched her with brotherly exasperation softening into affection.
“You’re determined.”
“I am,” Isla said, looking down at her hands. “I must understand what he believes. And what he fears.”
“And what you feel?” Alistair asked quietly.
She swallowed. “That least of all.”
He rose unsteadily. “Then God help the both of you.”
***
An hour later Isla stood in the foyer of Portman Square, bonnet in hand, cloak fastened tight, the door open to the sweep of the street. A footman waited with her gloves. She slipped them on with steady fingers and said, “Have the carriage brought round. I am going to Wexford House.”
